


Here There Be Monsters

by iLurked



Series: Here There Be Monsters [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established WxS, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLurked/pseuds/iLurked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant should have known better than to tempt fate, but seriously, how hard could staying at home and taking care of two kids be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here There Be Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> For #wssummer week 9  
> Prompt: Family

_4:20 a.m._  
  
“Are you sure you can handle it?”   
  
Grant resisted the urge to snort at the worried look on Jemma's face.   
  
Can he handle it?   
  
Did she forget that she was talking to one of SHIELD's most requested consultant? A former SHIELD specialist who was (arguably) second only to Agent Romanoff herself?   
  
“Honey, relax.” He shifted on the bed so that they could talk face to face, all the better to soothe his wife. “I can handle it. I have taken care of the kids before, remember?”   
  
“But I haven't been away for two days since Tommy was born.” Her hands wrung their blanket, demonstrating her agitation.   
  
And therein lay the problem.   
  
“Maybe I can call—” she continued.   
  
Grant silenced his wife the best way he knew how: by grabbing her hands, pulling her closer, and kissing her like her life depended on it.   
  
He knew that his wife's worries were not unreasonable. He had them, too, every time he was called away by SHIELD for a mission. He was intimately familiar with the gnawing sensation that manifested at the pit of his stomach whenever he left his family because of work.   
  
This time, however, it was Jemma who was needed. For a change, he was the one to stay at home and to mind the kids while Jemma was called by SHIELD for a consultation about a virus in Transylvania that gave people sudden onset of sun-allergy and anaemia.   
  
When he released Jemma from the kiss moments later, her eyes were dreamy, she had lost that panicky expression on her face, and she had somehow ended up on top of him. It was not an ideal position for holding a conversation, but it gave Grant more motivation to finish soothing and reassuring his wife so they could move on to more interesting things.   
  
“I can handle the kids and the house for two days, Jemma.” He told her confidently. After all, if she, a non-field certified work at home mother, can do it, then so can he, a military expert who was skilled to deal with highly-delicate and exceedingly dangerous situations.   
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“Of course.” He replied. “After all, how hard could staying at home and taking care of two kids be?”  
  


* * *

  
_ 6:25 a.m.   
  
_ Grant woke up to the sound of Hope talking to herself coming from the baby monitor. Jemma was no longer on the bed and was probably in the kitchen, preparing their household for the two days that it would be motherless.   
  
Another mumble came from Hope. It was still a happy babble, but he knew from experience that she would start crying soon if no one comes for her, so he rolled out of bed and took off to her room.   
  
The moment she saw her dada enter the room, Hope gave him a huge, gummy smile. (There was a reason her elder brother called her Toothless. She was one year old but a single baby tooth was yet to erupt.) Pulling herself up by the crib's rails, she let go to wave enthusiastically at her audience using both hands, so enthusiastically that she fell back down on her diapered bottom.   
  
She was about to cry when she was scooped up by her doting father.   
  
“Let's get your diaper changed, then it's time for breakfast, yeah?” Grant told her.   
  
Since crying made her tummy hurt and her dada was making her fly in the air, she decided to laugh instead.   
  
By the time father and daughter arrived at the kitchen, Jemma had already prepared the food for the people in the house who have teeth. And for those who did not...   
  
Chubby, dimpled arms reached for her mother. Sighing, Jemma took her daughter to begin nursing her.   
  
“Lunch and dinner are in the fridge,” she told Grant, making herself comfortable on the kitchen table. “But there's money for pizza, just in case. I know you can handle breakfast and hopefully I'll be back before lunch tomorrow.”   
  
Grant nodded, sitting across Jemma from the kitchen table, a cup of coffee at his elbow. (He would never tire of the sight of his wife nursing his baby.)   
  
“And I think I expressed enough milk to last the day.” She continued. “I'd ask an agent to swing by the house tonight to bring more.”   
  
He nodded, but he was only half-listening.   
  
“I left a list of food that Hope can ingest,” she said. “But if you're not sure if she can eat something, you call me or Fitz.”   
  
Grant nodded again. Fitz knew because like Simmons, he worked at home while his wife was often called away by SHIELD.   
  
(Fitz and Jemma never fell in love romantically as many have predicted; but their bond was so strong that they bought houses right across each other and connected them by building a not-so-secret laboratory beneath the street. They also raised their respective children together in their lab while their significant others were away on missions.)   
  
While Grant had long ago accepted that loving Jemma meant he would have to take Fitz as well, he had no plans of calling the engineer if he had questions regarding the children. He'd rather call Damian and Charlene Simmons, regardless of the time zones. (Or as they preferred to be called, Da and Mum, the latter of whom burst into tears the first time Grant called her that after years of insisting that he did so.)   
  
“Are you sure—”   
  
Before Jemma could finish her statement, Grant was crouching beside her, staring at her with his _Trust me, I'm a specialist_ expression that eased the worries of the most nervous civilian. “I can do this.”   
  
“Okay.” She said, but the uncertainty had not left her face.   
  
“I can handle the house for one day.”   
  
“I know.” She sighed. “I'm just nervous. I'm sorry, Grant. It's not that I don't trust you but—”   
  
“You feel better if you're with them.” He finished for her. “I understand. I feel that way, too. But I'm your partner. Trust me to do this when you're not here just as I trust you whenever I have to leave.”   
  
A resolute expression came to her face. “Alright. We can do this.”   
  
Grant nodded, satisfied.   
  
And not a moment too soon.   
  
An impatient honk signified the arrival of Skye, who was to take Jemma to the HQ.   
  
She sighed and separated the baby from her teat.   
  
Hope protested but a raspberry blown on her tummy distracted her. She giggled in delight instead.   
  
Jemma stood up and gave Grant a kiss before handing him the baby. Hand in hand, the spouses walked to the front door.   
  
Before stepping out, Jemma faced her husband and daughter. “Tommy might be cross if he wakes up and I'm gone, but we already talked about it last night and—”   
  
“Jemma?”   
  
She paused in her ramblings. “Yes?”   
  
“Trust me, remember?”   
  
“Oh, right, right.” She gave him a good attempt at a brave smile. “Right. I'm going to go now.”   
  
“Bye, honey. Take care of yourself, alright?” He told her before giving her a kiss that curled her toes.   
  
“I will,” she sighed when she was released. “Good luck with the house and kids, Grant.”  
  
Grant gave her a grin. After all, how hard was it to sit around playing with the kids all day?   
  
The answer was surprisingly hard.   
  
Grant's first clue came immediately.   
  
Hope squealed in happiness when her mother kissed her goodbye. When Jemma waved, Hope did, too. However, when her mother swept out of the door and the door closed, Hope blinked in surprise. There was a couple of beats of silence before she realised that her favourite person in the world had left her behind. That was when the wailing started.   
  
Grant's attempts to soothe the baby were in vain.   
  
"Yeah,” Grant whispered to his little girl, deciding that a bath would calm both of them down. “I miss mommy already, too.”   
  
Then, he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs and an extra loud voice shouting to be overheard over the babies' wails, “I want chicken nuggets for breakfast and ice cream for dessert.”   
  
Grant looked back at the kitchen table where a huge stack of pancakes and bacon were waiting.   
  
It was going to be a long day.   
  


* * *

  
_8:30 a.m._   
  
By Grant's schedule, Hope should have been down for a nap with Tommy looking after his sister while drawing a picture. Grant himself would take advantage of the lull to grab a shower.   
  
His kids, however, had other ideas.   
  
After breakfast (which consisted of chicken nuggets because, as Tommy argued, they could always eat pancakes and bacon tomorrow), Tommy wanted to walk outside to see if any animals needed rescuing. (He inherited Jemma's fascination and passion for biology, except that his interests leaned more towards animals instead of humans. He wanted to become a veterinarian one day. Unfortunately, with the life he lived, the animals he encountered was not limited to the local fauna. Tommy and Jemma often adopted, and got adopted by, animals which included, but was not limited to, a real live actual dragon they called Lockheed and an uncanny wolf Tommy insisted on calling Rahne which Grant could've sworn understood English.)   
  
Tommy had kicked up a fuss after being told that walking outside was not on the agenda that morning. Instead, it would be quiet time with his sister.   
  
Hope, on the other hand, somehow had gotten her tiny little hands on the pitcher of orange juice while father and son were arguing. Thrilled that her antics were not being closely monitored by her mum, she decided to water the floor before climbing down her high chair to inspect her handiwork. Still unsatisfied with the mess she created, she decided that swimming in the puddle was the greatest thing. So despite just giving her a bath, Grant had to give her another one while Tommy whined that he wanted to go out.   
  
After bathing Hope, Grant still had to clean the kitchen. He only felt the teeniest bit of guilt in using the television to distract the duo while he mopped the floor.   
  
Grant was just finishing the mopping when he heard a muffled thud followed by the ominous cry of Hope.   
  
“What happened?” He demanded as soon as he reached the living room.   
  
He saw Hope sitting on the floor near the wall, clutching her favourite blanket and bawling as if her heart was breaking.   
  
Tommy, who was seated on the couch unconcerned, shrugged, his eyes never leaving the science show he was watching. “Hope collided with the wall.”  
  
Scooping her in his arms, Grant resisted the urge to squeeze the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Why did she collide with the wall?”   
  
“Because she threw her blanket over her head and started crawling in circles but she couldn't see where she was going so she hit the wall.”   
  
“I told you to watch your sister while I clean the kitchen.”   
  
“I did!”   
  
“If you were watching her,” Grant stated evenly, tenderly checking the portion of Hope's head she was clutching. “You should have stopped her from hurting herself.”   
  
“If you wanted me to keep her from hurting herself, then you should have said so!” Tommy crossed his arms mutinously.   
  
“You told me to watch her, so that's what I did!”   
  
“Tommy!”   
  
“Shhh!” The boy suddenly exclaimed, eyes darting back to the television. “This is the best part.”   
  
Grant's brows furrowed. “Did you just shush me?”   
  
“Shhh!”   
  
“That's it.” Grant growled. “That's time out.”  
  
Tommy's jaws dropped. His dad, his awesome, fearless, adventurous dad who never put him in time out, could not actually be putting him in time out. That's was mummy's job! “But I—”   
  
“Corner. Now.”   
  
Tommy's eyes teared up.   
  
Grant hardened his heart to keep himself from taking back the punishment he had just dispensed.   
  
Tommy, seeing the resolute look on his father's face, burst into loud, hiccuping tears before running to the penalty corner where the thinking chair was located.   
  
Hope, whose crying had quieted down after her father picked her up, was startled by the sound of her brother's cries. Her eyes widened before she, once again, started wailing loudly.   
  
Grant sighed.   
  
They were terribly behind schedule, and the kitchen was still only half clean.   
  


* * *

  
_10:10 a.m._   
  
“You want me to what?” Grant resisted the urge to slam the front door to bar the interloper from entering.   
  
Not that he, or his family, was in danger from the newcomer.   
  
It was only Fitz, after all.   
  
Fitz, who was standing outside with his arms crossed. “I need you to take care of the twins because Jemma called me to the HQ. She said she had isolated the virus but she needed an effective delivery system for the—”   
  
Grant held up a hand to stop Fitz from babbling.   
  
On one hand, Fitz going to the HQ would mean that Jemma would be back tonight, and not tomorrow as planned.   
  
On the other hand, Fitz needed someone to look after the twins while he was at the HQ.   
  
The Fitz twins. The spawn of Fitz and Skye. Nathaniel Philip and Lilian May.   
  
(Yes. They were called Phil and Lil. At first, Grant thought the names were sweet, then he learned where Skye had patterned their names after. A disgruntled Grant asked, “You named your twins after cartoon characters?”   
  
To this, Skye replied. “Yes, I did. But that's okay. So did you.”   
  
Grant would forever rue the day Jemma allowed Skye to name their firstborn Thomas.)   
  
On the outside, the twins were the best of both parents. A year and a half older than Tommy, both had a thick thatch of thick, curly hair; huge, expressive chocolate brown eyes; and minds too sharp and far too advanced for kids their age.   
  
They could also do no wrong in the eyes of their family, by blood and otherwise. They were loved to their very core. And because they always had each other, they knew not the loneliness of their parents' childhood.   
  
Despite having been spoiled by the adults around them, the Fitz twins were happy, active, and normal (as normal as kids with off the charts I.Q. who grew up around the Avengers and SHIELD agents could be).   
  
And Grant believed with all his heart that they share the spirit of Lucifer himself between the two of them.   
  
Not that anyone would believe him: not their parents, not their doting godmother Jemma, and especially not their namesakes.   
  
Thus far, Grant had always managed to avoid babysitting the demon twins, which was not a small feat considering they only lived across the street and that Jemma often looked after them when their parents were with SHIELD.   
  
But it seemed as if Grant's winning streak was at an end.   
  
“Fine,” he finally capitulated. “Leave them here.”   
  
“Great.” Fitz rolled his eyes, as if his leaving his kids at the Simmons household was all but a foregone conclusion. He stabbed a sequence of numbers on his phone before the front door of the Fitz household burst open and heralded the arrival of two of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, both of whom rushed across the street without even looking both ways.   
  
“Tommy is in his room,” Grant told the twins when they arrived at his doorstep. Tommy fell asleep, exhausted after a crying jag. His daughter, on the other hand, was still up and hyper, greeting their visitors by trying to jump out of his arms (she was more like her mother than he initially thought). “Go ahead and wake him.”   
  
“Hey, Uncle Grant.” Lil singsonged with an evil glint in her eye. Lil was the unofficial leader and mastermind behind the mischief-making that she, her brother, and their best friend Tommy went into on a daily basis. She was a bad influence. “I want juice and grilled cheese when we come down.”   
  
“It's too early for juice and grilled cheese!” Grant called after her retreating back but she and her twin ignored him. Grant turned to Fitz for backup, but the latter had already walked away to his awaiting car.   
  
Like father, like daughter, Grant grumbled.   
  


* * *

  
_11:30 a.m._   
  
“Lil, Phil, I'm going to put down Hope for her nap. When I come back, I want the microwave oven back in perfect order, or else we all go hungry.”   
  
Not that it was a big threat. After all, the kids, at Lil's behest, just had grilled cheese and juice an hour ago. (Lil must have thought she was at a fast food joint instead of at Aunt Jemma and Uncle Grant's house. Not that she left a tip after he served her the food she so rudely demanded to have.)   
  
“But, Uncle Grant,” Lil tried to wheedle even as she was elbow-deep in microwave guts. “Why can't we just order pizza for lunch?”   
  
“When you say in perfect working order,” this came from Phil, who talked over his sister. “Does that mean we can upgrade the oven by installing a receiver so we can watch cartoons while our food heats?”   
  
“No.” Grant reminded himself that he was talking to children; children with off the charts IQ, but children still. “I just want the microwave to microwave. No upgrades. Just microwave. We don't need to watch cartoons on it. That's what we have the television set for.”   
  
Lil's and Phil's faces fell in disappointment, but Grant pretended not to see them. He turned to his son. “Tommy, make sure that they start putting the microwave back together. Properly.”   
  
“Sure, dad.” Tommy, who was busy reading a book that was larger than he was, replied.   
  
Once again, Grant thanked his lucky stars that his son's interest was more in line with biology rather than engineering and computer science.   
  
“And I'd bet you'd be a specialist,” Grant whispered as he bent down to retrieve Hope from the floor where she was studiously supervising the dismantling of the microwave oven. “Just like daddy.”   
  
Hope gave him a big, drooly smile. “NO!”   
  


* * *

  
_1:55 p.m._  
  
Grant couldn't believe he was cleaning the kitchen.   
  
Again.   
  
After the microwave oven imploded on itself and on the spaghetti and meatballs it was nuking (thank goodness none of the kids were harmed), Grant had no choice but to call the pizza parlour for delivery.   
  
Lunch was a terribly messy and almost unbearably chaotic meal where everything that was on the table spilled onto the floor. The funny thing was, Grant spent his lunch time doing everything but eat. He was wiping spills, fetching condiments and cutlery for the kids like some deranged waiter looking after the world's most horrible customers who didn't even know how to say please and thank you, and refereeing spats. At the same time, he chased after Hope who, despite the fact that she was only beginning to learn how to walk, could move lightning fast. She would put in her mouth anything she could get her hands on (she was especially fond of the crumbs that dropped on the floor by the older kids); everything except for the organic, healthy and sugar-free jar of mush her mother had prepared for her (and no, pizza was not on the list of food the baby can eat).   
  
He can't believe that the most relaxing part of his day thus far was the hour he spent cleaning the kitchen.   
  
He paused, frowned as the hair on the back of his neck rose, a signal from his subconscious that There Was Something Wrong. As his subconscious had saved his ass on more than one occasion, it was in best interest to listen to it.   
  
He did not hear anything from outside the kitchen.   
  
And that was in itself suspicious.   
  
“Tommy?” He called out, hurrying out of the kitchen, only to be greeted with silence that was complete and utter. He searched the entire first floor to but no kids. He checked the garage and all the cars in it (because Tommy once hid underneath the family van). He rushed up the stairs. “Thomas Simmons, you better get here right this instant!”   
  
Tommy's room was empty. So was the master's bedroom. And all the bathrooms.   
  
Heart pounding, Grant made his way to Hope's room but he can't say he was surprised to find it empty of sleeping baby.   
  
“Lil?” Grant called out. “Phil?”   
  
In his line of work, and considering his changing allegiances and checkered past, Grant had made a lot of enemies, many of whom would not hesitate to use children to get the upper hand.   
  
He took deep breaths. Panicking won't help him any. He forced himself to think.   
  
Then, it came to him.   
  
There was one place he had not searched yet.   
  


* * *

  
_3:10 p.m._   
  
The doors of the laboratory opened, agonizingly slow. (Grant resisted the urge to reach out to force them open.)   
  
He hand't even placed a single step inside before his knees buckled in relief in hearing a high-pitched, supremely annoyed voice snap, “Don't be stupid, Phil. Your idea won't work. Mine is better.”   
  
A few steps into the laboratory brought Tommy, Lil, and Phil into view.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Grant growled. In unison, the three kids screamed in surprise at having been caught.   
  
“We were performin' an experiment.” Lil replied after her quick recovery. Her attempt to brazen it out reminded Grant forcefully of her mother.   
  
“You know you're not supposed to be here without adult supervision.” He told them.   
  
“I know, but—” Lil tried to argue, but she was ignored.   
  
“Where's Hope?”   
  
No one replied, but all three pairs of eyes simultaneously went towards the back of the laboratory.   
  
“Dada!” A familiar voice called out happily.   
  
“Oh, Tommy, you didn't.” Grant was appalled. Moving quickly, he retrieved his daughter from inside a cage that usually housed injured animals Jemma and Tommy rescued. Thank goodness it was empty for the moment.   
  
“She was trying to eat our experiment, Uncle Grant.” Phil was saying. “She was safer inside.”   
  
Tommy's shoulders slumped. “To the thinking chair?”   
  
At Grant's nod, Tommy, Lil, and Phil trudged in front of him, defeated.   
  


* * *

  
_5:45 p.m._  
  
Grant watched in satisfaction as all four kids in his custody were, for a change, quiet and occupied.   
  
They were in the living room enjoying music that stimulated creativity in the background. The older kids were drawing and/or finger painting while Hope was down for a nap (she never really got a good nap earlier because she had sneaked out of her crib after following and annoying her brother and his friends so utterly that she was soon shoved in a cage).   
  
Grant stood up, deciding to take advantage of the time to clean the kitchen and, hopefully if he had enough time, to prepare for dinner (he's not holding his breath though).   
  
Later, Grant would swear that he was only gone ten minutes when he heard a repentant-sounding, “Whoops!” followed by a small explosion.   
  
When Grant ran back into the living room, everything in it: the floor, the wall, all the furnitures, and the children (especially the children), were covered in the purple biodegradable paint the kids were using. (Where they got that much paint, he had not idea.)   
  
“Sorry, Uncle Grant,” Phil told him gravely. “There was a miscalculation in our paint-delivery mechanism.”   
  
Grant wanted to bang his head on the wall. Repeatedly.   
  
It was time for Hope to bathe. Again.   
  


* * *

  
_7:05 p.m._   
  
Dinner was a somber affair except for Hope who laughed happily after upending a bowl of homemade apple sauce on top of her head. (Grant groaned. Not. Another. Bath.)   
  
The elder kids were uncharacteristically behaving themselves, putting Grant on edge. It was like they were up to something, but he'd be damned if he was going to ask.   
  
Then, “Uncle Grant?”   
  
“Yes, Lil?”   
  
“Would you play with us after dinner?”   
  
“What do you want to play?”   
  
“Legos.”   
  
“I don't want to play with Legos!” Phil immediately protested, surprising Grant because the twins usually share a single brain wave.   
  
“Yeah, Lil.” Tommy chimed in. “It's our turn to pick what to do. You chose the last time.”   
  
“Well, what do you want to do?” Lil asked, crossing her arms.   
  
“I want to sketch out my latest schematics for—” Phil began.   
  
“No.” Grant told him forcefully. “No more experiments. Tommy?”   
  
“Maybe we could play make believe.” He said.   
  
When there was no objection from either twin, Grant nodded. “If you behave yourself and finish your food without fuss, I might be enticed to play with you.”   
  
Maybe Grant should have been nervous at the easy victory, but honestly, anything that would get him through dinner unscathed was welcome.   
  
How would he have known that he would regret his capitulation later?   
  


* * *

  
_8:00 p.m._  
  
As a former undercover specialist, Grant had hidden himself behind disguises and personas too many to enumerate.   
  
But he could state with all positivity that he had never in his life disguised himself as a fairy princess.   
  
Tommy had dragged down his costume box, a Christmas gift from his Uncle Trip which family and friends added to whenever possible. They unearthed plenty of costumes to choose from and had fun dressing Lil as a pirate, Phil as a scientist (that kid had a one-track mind), Tommy as Tony Stark, and Hope as the Incredible Hulk (Grant caught the kids trying to paint Hope's skin green just in time. Another bath for Hope was out of the question).   
  
And Grant? Grant was a fairy princess. He did not protest the selection of his costume because he did not want to propagate gender stereotypes and also because he knew he can totally rock the fairy princess look.   
  
He was covered in tulle, wrapped in boa feathers, crowned with a tiara, and heavily decorated with stickers (thank goodness that they did not find a shoe that fit because it had been a while since he had worn high heels).   
  
Things were beginning to get interesting because Phil had found makeup at the bottom of the costume box when the doorbell rang.   
  
“That's probably mom and dad!” The twins chorused, rushing to the door.   
  
“Mum!” Tommy ran after them.   
  
Hope crowed and began crawling after her brother.   
  
“No! Wait!” Grant called after them, but his movements was hindered by the boa wrapped around his legs. He also took the time to scoop up Hope because someone stepping on her in excitement was a possibility. He arrived at the front door seconds after the twins threw the door open.   
  
There was a moment of shocked silence as the adults from outside regarded the adult inside the house. “Nice legs, Grant.” Fitz commented, deadpan.   
  
“I told you!” Jemma laughed.   
  


* * *

  
_8:50 p.m._  
  
“Grant?”   
  
“Yes, Jemma?”   
  
“Why does the kitchen look like a hurricane hit it?”   
  


* * *

  
_9:05 p.m._  
  
“Oh, my god,” came Jemma's shrill scream. “What happened to the living room?”   
  


* * *

  
_10:40 p.m._  
  
It had been a long, tiring day, and Grant was glad that he was at the end of it. He had just taken his first shower of the day, and he was sliding into a comfortable bed with his wife who, judging based on the fact that she was already sleeping, had a long and tiring day herself.   
  
But he couldn't resist. “Jemma?”   
  
“Hmmm?”   
  
“Promise me that you'll never leave me alone with the kids ever again.”   



End file.
